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He moves away from me as I take a step back and put a hand on the bag to stop it from swinging into my face. My other hand comes to my ribs, and I fold in half, panting and sweating. Fuck, I needed this to get my mind off things.
“Alright, everyone. Do some stretching and go home. We’re done for today.” He claps his hand and leaves the main room of the rundown gym.
It’s really shit. The ring barely holds together, most of the bags are covered in duct tape from the tears over the years, and most of the neon tube lights are broken.
But it’s free.
Dickie took over the gym after the previous owner died, and he’s been doing his best to maintain it. We come on a ‘pay-what-you-can’ basis and since most of us can’t pay shit, we train for free. He doesn’t care as long as it keeps us off the streets.
I head to the shower after twenty minutes of stretching my sore body. The water is freezing, which makes me gasp as it sprays on my skin. There’s no hot water in these changing rooms, but I don’t care. I always shower here anyway because it delays me going out.
This gym is my safe space. I’m the strongest I’ll ever be in here, and Dickie always keeps me safe, whether from the outside world or myself. He’s aware of my potential and has been taking me to fight at other gyms in the area. I’ve won every single fight. He has so much hope that I’ll make it far.
The only problem is that I’m forbidden to do illegal fighting anymore. I’m also banned from getting into petty fights outside of here and I miss smacking a bitch in the face. I do what I’m told, though, mainly because making it to professional MMA is more important to me than my pride when a Kings’ bitch insults me. I need to keep my body safe, or I won’t survive long enough to make it.
I turn the shower off and dry myself before putting on my tight jeans and tank top. I gather my brown hair in a high ponytail and zip my bag. Grabbing my phone on the bench, I check for messages.
Xi: Call me back when you leave your mom’s.
Mom: Hi, angel, can you buy mama a pack of cigarettes on your way? Love you.
Emma: Let me know when you’re at mom’s. Stay safe.
I huff and put my phone in my pocket before grabbing my gym bag. The cold smacks me as I leave the gym. Dammit, I should have brought a hairdryer. I walk to my car and throw my bag in the passenger seat before rounding to the driver’s side. It takes a few tries and a lot of prayers to the gods above before it starts.
“Thank fuck,” I whisper to myself. The sun has already set, and I turn my lights on knowing perfectly only one is working. I need to get it fixed, only I can’t exactly afford it at the moment.
My stomach tenses as I approach the trailer park where my mom lives. I love her to pieces, and I will keep visiting her twice a week like I promised when we moved to Dad’s but, fuck, it’s always stressful to spend time with her. I’m never sure what state she’ll be in.
I park right outside her mobile home and take a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
I climb the step she puts in front of her door and walk in. I’m instantly hit with the heat of the place. She must have turned all her radiators on. It smells of dampness, cigarettes, and all sorts of food, as usual. The TV is on, except she’s not on her sofa. I look around and find her by the stove, stirring whatever is in the pot with a plastic fork.
“Hey, angel,” she beams with a cigarette between her lips. “Come on in, baby, and close the door. Give Mama a kiss.” I shut the door and go to her. She’s in a good mood, dressed and clean. Her hair isn’t brushed, but I can’t ask for too much.
I walk to her and give her a kiss on the cheek before taking the cigarette from her mouth. I stub it in her already full ashtray and leave it there. “I swear it sounds so weird when you call yourself mama,” I say lightly.
“I know,” she smiles. “That’s why I do it. I’m making mac and cheese. The box kind.”
“My favorite,” I say softly. “How was your day?”
“Good, good. I had work at the store, and I went.” She looks at me, expectant.
“That’s amazing. Well done.” It might seem like nothing to show up to work, but it’s a big step for my mom. She often isn’t well enough to even get out of bed. Knowing she went to work is a great thing.
Her eyes light up following my praise, and I feel guilty for all the times I’ve not been with her to tell her how good she’s doing. That I’m proud of her for being alive.
“Some customers are so fucking shitty,” she adds. “I swear I could slap them. This lady wanted a refund for a box I know she opened while she was shopping. We’re a tiny convenience store. Did she honestly think I didn’t see her?”
I chuckle and fill two glasses of water for both of us. “I wanted to slap a few people today, too. My Philosophy professor outed me in front of everyone for missing classes last week. There are hundreds of us in the class. It was embarrassing as fuck.”
“That’s your own fault. You should show up to class.”
“I had a fight last week,” I smile proudly. “Dickie took me to the South Bank for it. Their gym is insane. It has three rings and seats for people who want to watch.Seats, Mom. How cool is that? You could come if you want next time. I won, you know?”
“I don’t want to see you fight,” she snaps back. “Why would I want to see my daughter getting beaten up?”
“That’s my point,” I insist. “I don’t! I kick the shit out of them.”
